


It's A Heatwave

by shadowstake_us82



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: M/M, Male Objectification, No Plot/Plotless, No Work Getting Done Either, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowstake_us82/pseuds/shadowstake_us82
Summary: The air con has broken down in the incident room and the team is suffering during a particularly unnaturally hot summer.





	It's A Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, I just put them in scenarios I wish us viewers could have had a chance to enjoy but were robbed of. I own not a thing. Just responsible for all the messing about.
> 
> Set during the summer of series 5. (If we had one. *Sob*).

_Jesus Christ._ _Could it get any hotter in here if it tried?!_

Emerson Kent irritably slammed his stapler on the desk and managed to upset his carefully lined up pens on to the floor.

 _‘Fuck’_ , he swore under his breath. Not half as quietly as he had thought, given the way his sergeant looked up and raised an eyebrow at him.

Flushing, Kent automatically ducked his head and returned his gaze to his monitor, not even pretending to read the words on the screen. He blinked and sighed, not for the first time wishing he could just flop into an ice-cold lake.

'Is the air con gonna come on any time soon?!’ Finley Mansell angrily gritted through his teeth, wiping the perspiration off his brow for the umpteenth time.

'Oh, have you not heard?’ Meg Riley casually threw out. 'It’s broken.’

'WHAT?!’ Mansell exclaimed, eyes completely bugging out, utterly appalled. 'What the fuck are we supposed to do in the meantime? Drown in our own sweat and misery, I suppose!’ He folded his arms and winced at the discomfort the beginnings of a soiled shirt was bringing. It wasn’t even lunch time yet.

Riley reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a small battery operated fan. 'Well, you can if you want’, she replied, switching it on and holding it to her face smugly. 'I’ll be all right’, she noted, smiling serenely in a way that was positively obscene. She smirked at Mansell’s succinct response of a middle finger.

'Kent, be useful. Nick her batteries.’ Mansell grumbled, making Riley protectively clutch the cheap neon green plastic to her chest. She started slightly when the felt propellers briefly buzzed against her.

Kent looked over and pouted, gazing longingly at the object.

'Oh dear.’ Sergeant Ray Miles perked up from his own desk opposite his youngest detective constable. 'I know that look.’

'Ha! Yeah! That’s usually the one he uses for the guv!’ Mansell snorted.

Kent was about to retort with a suitably rude comeback when a deep and calm voice politely interrupted:

'And what would that be exactly?’

Both Kent and Mansell froze in horror amid Riley’s cackle and Miles’s brief snigger behind a file.

'Nothing, boss.’ Mansell muttered into his chest as he clicked his mouse copiously under the guise of being busy.

'Mmmhmm’, Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler murmured with a slight rise of his eyebrows.

He walked - (glided, Kent couldn’t help thinking before he shook his head in exasperation at himself) - back to his office without another word, but still, Kent thought he had detected the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Chandler softly closed his door behind him.

Kent’s eyes followed his movements; they always did, he could never help it. He swallowed as he watched DI Chandler remove his suit jacket and gently, correctly, drape it over the back of his chair. Even from his own desk, Kent could see the telltale signs of the overbearing heat getting to Chandler by the pink flush in his cheeks. Kent swallowed again and took a breath, telling himself to look away before …

S.H.I.T.

All three of them - Miles, Mansell, Riley - (even some of the other officers he could never remember the names of - did they even _have_ names?) were staring unashamedly at him, especially when his team started grinning at him in that way. He closed his eyes and looked again at his computer screen, lifting a pen to tap against the keyboard so as to suggest some sort of work was going on. He prayed it was enough to distract his colleagues back to their own work, and to keep him from looking back at Chandler’s office door again. This course of action succeeded for all of ten minutes before a noise from Chandler made him glance over.

Kent’s mouth popped open and his eyes widened. ’Oh God’, he breathed. He realised even to his own ears it was a desperate and bizarre mix of longing and dread.

Chandler’s once crisp shirt was now clinging indecently to every muscle and hard angle of his body. Transparently so.

Kent blinked repeatedly trying to work out how on God’s earth did he manage to get so lucky and yet be so clearly tortured all at the same time. It seemed clear that between leaving the incident room and returning, Chandler must have tipped a bottle of water over himself. Kent gulped at the result and felt as if he should cross himself and start praying.

'Try not to self-combust, Kent.’ Miles smirked.

'There’s no way your blood pressure is going to survive this shift if you keep that up.’ Riley giggled. She tilted her head and looked at their DI through his office’s glass door. 'He is very buff, though, isn’t he?’ She gave a sneaky wink to Kent, then glanced deviously at Mansell who folded his arms leisurely behind his back and grinned widely.

'I know I have trouble keeping my mind on work whenever he flexes those muscles in my eye line.’

'Now, Mansell, steady; it’s more than hot enough in here as it is. Think of poor Kent.’ She grinned mischievously.

'I know I’m having trouble staying cool. I tell ya, my Judy should count herself lucky I’m so devoted.’ Miles retorted, almost succeeding with a straight face.

Mansell and Riley tried to hide their manic grins behind their hands but failed miserably. Kent was very close to the end of his rope when one of the nameless officers by the bins piped up:

'I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for leaving crumbs, that’s for sure.’

All four of them turned to look at him.

'Who are you again?’ Kent asked impatiently, then lifted a hand, 'never mind.’

And all four of them turned around again.

'So, when you planning on worshipping the boss again on your knees?’ Mansell asked casually.

'Leave off’, Miles answered, 'he’s already paid that particular due at least three times today.’

\- 'And counting’, Riley chimed in.

'Any second now he’ll be preggers’, Mansell guffawed.

'I AM here, y'know!’ Kent blurted out in exasperation. He wondered if Joe would let him borrow his tiger balm because the headache that was threatening was going to be explosive at this rate.

'Yeah. That’s what makes it so much fun.’ Mansell shrugged.

'Oh for fuck’s sake!’ Kent snapped, now resorting to deep breaths through his nose before breathing out again.

'Language.’ Miles responded, eyeing Kent’s unimpressed expression with glee.

'You do remember you’re supposed to be in charge of this rabble, don’t you?’ Kent said conversationally to his sergeant, gesticulating with contempt at Mansell and Riley who were looking on as innocently as they could fake.

'Since when do you lot listen to me?’ Miles replied, opening up his paper now and scanning the sports section.

Riley leaned over and tossed a file on to his desk belonging to a case they were soon to close.

'Why don’t you pass this along to the boss for me?’ Kent took the folder and smiled. 'See if you can get a decent grope in whilst he’s having a read through.’

Kent made an impatient noise and muttered 'is nothing sacred??’ under his breath.

'Don’t come back until you have your first five baby names picked out.’ Mansell grinned happily.

Kent closed his eyes for a second and internally asked for strength. He made the mistake of glancing to his left, and his eyes fell unavoidably on the object of his affection.

Chandler was now standing, leaning over his desk, his soaked shirt moulded to every inch of his body, inviting Kent’s eyes to wander recklessly, helplessly. He had rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows leaving his forearms exposed as well as his neck since his tie had been discarded, along with his waistcoat, and with four shirt buttons undone Kent could make out the tanned skin of his chest, his eyes roaming lower as they were teased with so much more of what was hidden beneath.

Kent took a breath and without permission, his mind entertained some of his favourite work fantasies. Somehow time seemed to slow down as he was imagining his lips chasing caresses over Chandler’s throat, and just as his hands smoothed down Chandler’s body, fingers tracing the planes of his chest down towards the hardness of his stomach, Chandler’s hands possessively gripping his hips in response so as to bring him closer … Chandler - the Chandler alone in his office, frowning at some papers - looked up at that second, eyes locking on to Kent’s, boring right into him. Kent lept from his seat, jerking so violently he knocked his mug of tea right into his lap.

With a yelp and several swear words, Kent desperately grabbed a packet of tissues from his drawer to wipe himself down as best he could.

'Maybe you could ask the boss for assistance’, Mansell choked, and all three of his colleagues howled with laughter.

Kent rolled his eyes and wondered if Joe would let him go home to change his now very soggy trousers. Not to mention murder his colleagues. He glanced back over at the office and Joe was looking his way again, this time with the merest hint of a knowing smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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